


A Life That Once Was

by Azamatic, RighteousRiot



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rediscovering feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 19:34:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15956057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azamatic/pseuds/Azamatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RighteousRiot/pseuds/RighteousRiot
Summary: Set just before the end of The Winter Soldier and afterwards. Follow the boys as they go through the aftermath of what's happened and how they'll deal with it.





	A Life That Once Was

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first joint fic with RighteousRiot. I've wrote the first chapter (From Bucky's POV) and they've write it from Steve's POV. I've thoroughly enjoyed writing this, but it still hurts thinking of the boys like this! As always, comments are appreciated, as well as the kudos'.
> 
> Also, PLEASE go and check out Dakota's profile. Their work is amaziiiiiiiiiiiiiing!

He could hear the voices inside his head, constantly bickering with each other. He was astride the blonde man, dealing him punch after punch. “That's it. This is what you have to do. Finish it. Finish your mission.”  
  
Why wasn't the blonde fighting back? He was lying there and taking the beating willingly. But he was staring at him straight in the eyes. “You're my friend.”  
  
This made him stop, the other voice coming through. “Listen to him. He doesn't want to fight you. Don't hurt him anymore.”  
  
He shook this voice from his head. “You're my mission.”  
  
More dealt more punches before the glass gave way and they both fell into the water.  
  
He couldn't control his own movements. Why was he dragging this man out of the water? This was the man he had the overwhelming urge kill, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.  
  
He left the blonde on the river bank, staring at him for the longest time. He feels different now that he sees the state the blonde is in. Is it guilt? One of the voices is asking him why he's given this man the beating, why he's left him with cuts and bruise all over his handsome face.  
  
The sound of helicopters and sirens overhead had snapped him out. He couldn't stay here. He turned away and started to run, some part of him hoping that someone would find the blonde.  
  
\--------------------  
  
It was night time by the time he made it back. The small abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town was where he was staying.  
  
He collapsed onto the threadbare mattress and pulled the moth eaten blanket over him, not even bothering to dry off after being in the water. He was filthy. His hair clung to his bloodied face, but he didn't care. His mission was over and all he wanted to was sleep. But every time he shut his eyes, one of the voices inside his head kept waking him up.  
  
“Why did you do that to him, Bucky?” He always thought it weird when this voice would call him that. Who was this Bucky anyway?  
  
He reached under the thin pillow and pulled out a tatty looking green book. He opened it and flicked through the pages, each filled with exquisite sketches of this man which featured in nearly all of them. Chiselled looks, deep brown eyes and thick hair. Who was this person? He must have been pretty important to whoever this book belonged to.  
  
He couldn't remember how he came by the book. It's always been with him he thinks, yet he knows nothing about it.  
  
Looking through the little book helps him to settle down and clear his mind. He likes to think he can catch an almost minty smell wafting up from it, the pages making him feel all warm deep down.  
  
He feels his eyes start to grow heavy whilst looking at the sketches. Maybe one day he'll find out who this book belonged to, and who the handsome man in the sketches was.  
  
\--------------------  
  
His dreams were usually dark ones, filled with violence and bloodshed, ghastly images of the evil work he had done over the years. But this time was different.  
  
He could see the handsome man in the sketches with his arm round a smaller, thinner man that was pressed to his side. Both of them were stretched out on a bed, tucked underneath a thick quilt to protect them from the bitter winter chill. The dark haired man had his eyes closed, whilst the smaller one had his knees up, leaning the small book against it and adding another sketch of the man to the last page.  
  
It was clear this smaller man liked to sketch his friend, but he particularly like to sketch him whilst he dozed or slept peacefully. His face was illuminated by the moonlight that crept through the curtains, the only other light in the room being from the small lamp on the bedside table. It gave the smaller man just enough light to see what he was doing.  
  
Seeing them in such an intimate embrace made him subconsciously feel all warm inside. This was clearly a relationship that was surrounded by more than just love.  
  
But why was he having dreams about these two people? He didn't recognise them. He hadn't seen them during any of his missions, so this was strange to him. Was it a sign of something? He thought that it must mean something to him.  
  
  
\--------------------  
  
He started developing an obsession with this man. To him, it didn't feel like something new. Deep down, it felt like this had happened before. As the days went by and his mind started to clear, memories started to flash before his eyes. Memories of this blonde man, but there was something different about him. He was smaller now and a lot less built as the man he had recently saw, but it was definitely him; he could tell by his blue eyes  
  
These memories were making him feel something, almost calm, almost at peace, something he hadn't felt in such a long time. This man was significant in some way. He had to find out who this person was and why he was drawn to him.  
  
He heard on his small portable radio that the injured were being cared for in the local hospital, conveniently located not too far away from where he was sleeping. By now his picture was everywhere, but he didn't care. He had to do this.  
  
There was a multi story car park on the opposite side of the road to the hospital. He'd somehow managed to access their systems and find out which room this man was in. It was raining this night, but rain was the least of his worries. This man's room was level with the 6th level of the building. He sat in a hooded jacket that was slowly getting wetter by the minute. He could see the blonde through the window, lying motionless on the bed. There was a woman in a white coat attending to him, making notes on her clipboard. His heart leapt when he could see the cuts and bruises all over the mans face, and soon a voice came back into his head. “Look what you've done to him. He didn't deserve this.” He was so caught up in watching this blonde, that he hardly notice the single loan tear trickle down his face, mixing with the raindrops on his cheek.  
  
No more he though. He couldn't do this any more. It was wrong to do this to someone he was starting to feel this way to.  
  
Eventually, he thought to himself, he'll get to the bottom of it. He'll watch over this man and hope some answers come of it.  
  
  
  


 


End file.
